


Let's Party!

by doctormissy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Drinking, Eve and R and Q are totally besties, Fluff and Crack, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Office Party, Party, whole MI6 ships 00Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: It's Halloween and MI6 holds a mandatory office party - which is a nightmare for Q, because madatory is mandatory, and the only person he is trying to avoid for moths is going to be there too. 007.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Even despite my contributions to Hanniween, I couldn't give a Halloween 00Q a miss, so, here you go, hope you enjoy 4K words of crack! If there's something else I can't give a miss, it's song lyric and references to my favourite shows and films, and Halloween offers great opportunities of using that, so there's plenty.

_To: [everyone]_  
_From: eve.moneypenny@mi6.gov.uk_  
_Subject: Halloween Party_  
_Date: 24/10/2016 8:36 a.m._

_**Announcement:** _

_The annual office Halloween fancy dress party takes place at the MI6 Headquarters on All Hallows’ Eve from 6 p.m. to time unknown._  
_Attendance in compulsory to all staff members with only few exceptions as illness or grave injuries._  
_**Rules:** bring food, drinks, thematic music and films. Costumes are also compulsory, as it is a _ fancy dress _party. A best costume competition is held._  
_For further details, call my office or e-mail._

_Greetings,  
Eve Moneypenny ♡_

 

“Oh no,” sighed Q, looking at his mailbox blankly. That was the only appropriate response on what he has just read.

“Oh no what?” R, his right hand, asked curiously, as she passed his desk with a broken laptop in her hands. She offered great help, but her perpetual ferreting about for details made him a bit uncomfortable sometimes.

She stopped and leant over Q to take a peek at the screen. She must have thought it was a matter of national security or something, judging by the alert in his voice.

“Eve is organising a _Halloween party_ again. And it’s mandatory.”

If R were surprised, she showed nothing. “So what? As far as I can remember, you always came, boss – then why do you sound like you were trying to avoid it this time? It’s going to be _fun_!”

According to her, everything except paperwork and destroyed equipment was _fun_. That was the young blood these days.

“Is 007 going to be there?” That was a stupid question, and Q realised it all too late. He couldn’t take it back now. Of fucking course he is. 

“Well, _duh_ , genius. He loves every party he can go to, for it is an opportunity to get drunk and annoy people. Besides, it is mandatory.”

Exactly the sarcastic reply he has been expecting. Q felt the urge to sigh again. “Christina, you were sick at Christmas, so you cannot know what happened.” He raised his head to look her in the eye. His own shone with displeasure. 

R put her arms akimbo and narrowed her eyes. “Wait. What has happened? What does it have to do with you and 007?”

_How did she know it was about that now?_

He was rather reluctant to talk about it, but eventually, Q gave up and responded. It was R after all. She could coax anything out of anyone, even the Double-Ohs. She should have been one herself, and he told her that often. 

“Well,” he started, “we were all very drunk, almost everyone was gone already, he was flirting with me for the entire night, and we—”

He was, to his relief, suddenly stalled by the lift. It started to rattle as it travelled downstairs. Q definitely wasn’t expecting anyone at that time of the day. Both he and R pointed their looks at the door. 

Despite all, Q only considered the loud noise favourable, because maybe, R might forget about the nosy questioning.

After few seconds it finally stopped, and the door opened. It revealed Moneypenny in her high heels and expensive dress and all. She carried two clipboards in her hands. Oh, more papers to fill. As if no one could leave him alone with his work for awhile. 

“They kissed!” she shouted. She has eavesdropped, that… devil! 

 

R gave Q a wolf-whistle and a friendly nudge. “Wow, Q, who’d have thought such a strong-willed person as you would have succumbed to Bond’s charms?” She was grinning like a Cheshire cat now. “What was it like?”  
Q really felt like head-butting the desk and staying there for the rest of the day. “That is none of your goddamn business, R. Will you both be so kind and shut up?” he yelled a little louder than intended. Then, he added, calmer, “What have you got for me, Ms Moneypenny?” 

“You truly wish to know, don’t you, R?” Eve teased the technician as she approached the pair of them. The younger woman responded with an eye-roll.

Q will have to come to terms with the fact he is going to the party and that he is going to meet Bond there. Oh well. It can’t be _that_ bad, can it?

R handed him the laptop and Eve did the same with the clipboards. After a while, he forgot about the e-mail completely. 

Well, for a week at least.

 

Q closed the door to his flat, patted the fluffy white cat sneaking at his legs, hung his bag and anorak on a peg at the door, and went to the living room, where a small orange jack-o’-lantern lay on the coffee table as the single reminder of the holiday. 

_Oh bugger_. The party was today, and Q _forgot about it_. He was forgetting about it for a whole week. He was so immersed in work that he _forgot_. He was thankful for so, most of the time. Until now, when he realised he had no costume. It was a fancy dress party, which meant costume was a necessity. He needed one, and very quickly.

Oh, how much he wished he didn’t.

Well, he could fake a sickness and simply not attend, but that… wasn’t exactly fair to the rest of his colleagues who held equal distaste for parties and crowded places in general as he. Not to mention his own rules. Plus he knew Eve – coming was inevitable.  
He just sighed and hoped 007 wasn’t in a shape to go after that cocked-up mission he has just returned from few hours ago, and the doctor would ban him from going anywhere but his flat, or at least from drinking. Not that Bond would listen to any of that, ever. That was not a possible outcome. 

He _will_ meet him there. And, what was worse, talk to him, face to face. That was also inevitable. 

(Part of him, buried deep inside his consciousness, wished he would, though. That was the exact part of him that liked the kiss, liked 007, and wanted it to happen again in spite of the common sense that told him it was a very very bad idea. He tried not to think about it and pretend it didn’t exist – however, it _did_.)

Q had no other choice than to walk to the bedroom and search his wardrobe for anything costume-like he could use, because there was no time for borrowing one, obviously, and he definitely didn’t want to phone Eve. That would be embarrassing. 

_Think, think, think,_ he told himself. It was as if no reasonable thoughts occurred to him. He has always hated that feeling. _What could I wear?_

He was the Quartermaster of MI6, for fuck’s sake, he could make up a bloody Halloween costume. Children had no problem with it whatsoever, so why should he? 

Q sat on the edge of his bed and stared into the open wardrobe full of shirts, jackets, jumpers, cardigans, and few sweatshirts hanging on hangers. Nothing appropriate to wear to a Halloween party. Yeah. Of course. 

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax and fall backwards into the soft fabric of the quilts in stripy, colourful quilt covers. He groaned. That, the obligation to socialise, was one of the cons of working at MI6, where people like Eve Moneypenny also happened to work. 

_And what are Halloween costumes anyway – other than ghost and wizard?_

Q’s mind felt so empty, unusually empty for a person with IQ 144. And no, that strange state of mind most certainly had nothing to do with 007. Or Mallory wearing a costume. Or Moneypenny, for that matter. 

He sat up again and continued the staring session. Minutes of no ideas passed unpleasantly slowly. 

This was a no-win situation. He had to ask for help. But not Eve’s, never. He chose the lesser of several evils – Christina Gallop. She Perhaps might not make fun of him. 

Q pulled his mobile out of his trousers’ pocket and decided to text instead of dialling the woman’s number. He has always preferred texts to calls.

Q smiled. Satisfied, he tossed the mobile on the bed and got up. 

It took him about three minutes to find every required piece of clothing – black jeans, light-blue button-down, red braces, red bowtie, and a very Doctor-ish checked tweed jacket. He had all he needed without intending to, although he was a huge Whovian everyone would suspect to make cosplays on purpose. 

Oh, it was perfect. He knew why Christina was his favourite. She could offer good advice in any situation, if with a hint of sarcasm in every sentence.

For a moment, Q actually forgot he didn’t want to go—no, _despised_ the idea of going to a Halloween party at the office. He felt excited almost, as he had always used to before 007.

He knew it was time enough before the party started, but he could try the costume on already – to see if it fit well. He did not wear the jacket for quite some time after all. And he definitely felt proud of his excellent cosplay, although he’d slap himself for not coming up with it himself. 

 

When Q arrived at HQ, it was 5:56 p.m. Dozens of Six employees in various masks and costumes crowded the place already, as if the party had started long ago; the only thing that could disprove it was the absence of music and games being played. 

There were thematic decorations everywhere. Pumpkins, cobwebs, spiders, ghosts, bats and cats made of paper, objects sprinkled with fake blood… which could have been real blood, one never knew with the service. They surely had enough of it – no one would blame those who took care of decorating. 

Q would have almost forgotten this was the Secret Intelligence Service and not a university campus in some kind of American film, hadn’t R run to him and dragged him toward a group of Tanner, Samantha and Audrey from Accounting, 004, 009, and Eve standing in the middle of the main bunker in their elaborate, wild costumes. 

The young brunette was dressed as a vampire, perfect make-up and all. Her skin was pale, a drip of dry blood ran from her mouth, she wore red contacts (and no glasses) and tight black dress. The skirt was short just enough. Perhaps unfortunately, for some of her male admirers who eyed her almost non-stop. 

Tanner was a quite terrifying zombie – his make-up was perfect enough for others to actually worry about him eating their brain –, Eve was a witch as if right from _Hocus Pocus_ , 004 was a skeleton (she reminded Q of 007 on his personal Mexico mission, only she wore less clothes), 009 came in a Superman costume, and the two secretaries were Ghostbusters, the 2016 version. How fitting – they could destroy an annoying ghost like special agent Aaron over there. 

“Oh, look at you, Doctor!”

“That’s an amazing cosplay, Quartermaster!”

“Guess who didn’t want to show up…” 

“…and totally wins it?” 

Frankly, he expected all the cheery welcomes and forced smiles and friendly pats. But what he didn’t expect was that unmistakable, deep, soft voice belonging to no one but James-Bloody-Bond saying, right from behind him, “Is Eleven your favourite?”

He actually startled Q a little, even if the man would never admit it. He should go to hell with that creepy spy stealth of his. 

“No, it’s the Tenth, actually,” replied Q solemnly, as if such conversation was an utterly normal thing amongst the two of them. He slowly turned round – to see the agent dressed as one Dr Hannibal Lecter, in that grotty mask and a straitjacket, if undone. Q eyed him up and down. He would never take Bond as a fan of horror films.

“Where is your Clarice Starling?” said Q, tense and bitter. He wanted to get as far from him as possible and get a drink – but he could always get rid of Bond in a teasing manner as per usual. That was easier. “Or should I say Will Graham?”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I came alone, Quartermaster. I was rather hoping I could ask you to join me for a drink, or dance maybe?”

_How bold he thinks he is? Does he think he can get anything he wants from anyone he wants if he throws on that appealing face and asks?_

“I like the Twelfth, by the way.” 

_Even a flirtatious smile and offering pointless information as a favourite Doctor won’t help him, no._

The group stood around Q as if they were all his bodyguards trying to shield him from an abuser. They said nothing at all for the whole time. Atmosphere density round them has reached the maximum point.

Q was about to utter another sharp response in which he’d make it clear that he most definitely doesn’t know why on earth should 007 think he would accept such offer, when he was suddenly stopped by Mallory clearing his throat in the microphone and announcing the party as officially initiated, followed by dance music. 

The lights were switched off and replaced by colourful, blinking spotlights. 

Q looked at M and had to suppress a chuckle, because he was dressed as a king, a member of the royal family perhaps. It looked like a costume from one of Shakespeare’s plays. Oh, he always needed to be in charge, right?

It were Q’s eyes and ears that were going to regret going there the most the next day.

“Woohoo, let’s dance!” exclaimed at least three people, and on their prompt, half of MI6 moved on to the centre of the chamber and started to move in the rhythm of the music. 

Q failed to recognise the song; it was some kind of modern club music his cousin loved. He liked the old things better. 

“Alright, we’re gonna go have some fun,” said Eve to ease off the situation. They all started walking towards the improvised bar compiled from three desks and a tablecloth to get some of the fruit-and-vodka punch as red as blood. 

Q was left alone with the Double-Oh, who was determined to get him to dance with him. He won’t let go of the idea, will he? 

Said agent cocked an inviting eyebrow and stretched out a hand for Q to take. He still was so sure he would just say yes and go. Well, that wasn’t the case. Q wanted to have nothing to do with Bond. Everyone knew how that would end. In tears and pain. And very soon.

“If you’ll excuse me, _Hannibal_ , I need to see 003 and dress him down for a drowned flash drive he was cowardly enough not to return to me. You’re teaching my agents bad manners, and that means no dancing.” 

And that was it. He thought of a bad pun and ordered himself out of there, straight into a group of four agents in nothing more than their customary suits – the only objects suggesting it was fancy dress were sunglasses covering their eyes – standing in the corner, reluctant to take part in the foolery they thought the party for. Not everyone was like Bond.

Q couldn’t believe someone having an occupation of spies, assumed masters of disguise, could lack creativity enough to dress as Men In Black. And, what was the oddest of all, that it was 003 and his mates. He always read those as intelligent. 

“003!” he called, “and don’t pretend you have no idea what you have done!”

 

After that ‘ 007 incident’, the evening passed quite well, and soon it turned into night. The music was mostly awful, according to Q and his taste, and so were the foolish games Eve organised with the help of R and Tanner.

He successfully avoided Bond for most of the time. He was just chatting and dancing slowly – he couldn’t help it, his neurons sent stimuli to move to his muscles automatically, sans his control – with vampire-R and witch-Eve at one of the tables in the corner, decorated by a red ribbon that reminded everyone he had won the trivia quiz _and_ a game of Halloween Monopoly pinned to his left lapel. (Those games were on the schedule mostly because of him, they said.)

They had few drinks too, since remaining sane and sober at the same time was absolutely out of the question. Besides, there were few drinking games too.

007, of course, must have been in the centre of all action. He was loud, tipsy, and so bloody fascinating in the red and yellow lights and company of Alec and two ladies Q knew only by sight. Even despite the muzzle covering half of his face. Oh God. 

He was prancing in the beats, showing off every part of his athletic physique, casting tempting looks at Q – who most certainly _wasn’t_ looking his direction every two minutes – and he was doing that on purpose. He wanted Q to see him, to see what he was missing, what he rejected rather offensively earlier the day. 

After few shots of vodka and glasses of sweet and colourful cocktails (so what they were ladies’ drinks, Q liked those more than neat scotch Bond has been drinking), that well-hidden part of his mind that had a crush on Bond since the day at the gallery started to show up more and more, and Christina with Eve weren’t really helpful on that matter. They, on the contrary, encouraged it and tried to persuade him to finally go to him and spare everyone few more months of the unbearable tension between the two of them. 

“Just go over there, snog the hell out of him, and go to the bathroom to shag already, for fuck’s sake, Q. You two are killing us all with all the bickering and pining of yours,” one of them said. He couldn’t tell who, the outside world was as if muffled and distorted by all the loudness and screaming. 

“Then I must prove you wrong; there is nothing between me and 007,” he said loudly, but mostly to himself, not to the women. 

He was deceiving himself. He knew there was nothing true about that. As Eve shouted so explicitly, they kissed, more than once, and everyone knew it, even if they pretended otherwise. 

“ _Sure_ there isn’t,” R replied, deadpan. She hid the satisfied smile forming on her face in her cocktail glass. 

“Quit lying to yourself, Q. Everyone knows there is, even you do, deep inside. And even if you don’t, then we do, because you’re all puppy eyes over James for what, four years? It’s getting annoying already, all that sexual tension, as R said. He loves you too, you know.”

_He loves you too._ Q’s already pounding heart started to beat faster, and he was certain his ears and cheeks burned red. 

“And if something happens to you, Eve is gonna cut off his bollocks and serve them to Mallory. Personally.”

“Yeah. Like hell I will, I promise! Now go, you oblivious twat.”

Sometimes, Q wondered why these two were his best friends. They were awful sometimes. Like right now. 

Q shook his head in disagreement. “No. If he comes here, fine, but I am not going to… them. I am not descending to fawning over anyone.” _Not in front of Alec,_ he’d add. _Alec is a menace worse than Bond, and once something crosses his wicked mind, he won’t let go._

Q took a sip of his drink and stayed right where he was. Three of his minions and an M-Branch bloke who happened to date one of them approached them in order to engage in conversation, which saved Q from other uncomfortable notes coming from Eve and Tina. 

 

*

 

“He’s not coming, James. If you want that boffin, you must come to him,” shouted Alec (dressed as a Grim Reaper) in Bond’s ear, as an ending song gave him the opportunity. “Never stop trying, tiger.” 

His best friend was right again. James wanted to differ – but knew all too well there was no other way of winning the young man. Because Q was bloody _stubborn._

And no, no. He didn’t want to _win_ him. He wanted him to fall for him by being kind to him, giving him presents, trying not to lose or break his expensive equipment, and never stop asking, because around him, he felt something he thought he could never feel again since Vesper. It was just incredible what he did to him – especially that time months ago when he pressed is lips on his and they shared few kisses that were more than passionate— 

“You know what, Alec? I need another drink.” 

“Excellent idea, brother.” 

“No, you stay here.” James patted 006’s cloaked shoulder and started to make his way to the bar – near which stood Q, surrounded by a group of Eve and five of his subordinates. They were laughing at something one of them has just said. 

Alec surely got the message. 

 

* 

 

“Target approaching,” whispered Eve. She looked at R and then at Q, who raised a confused eyebrow at her. For a genius, he was dumb sometimes. She explained, grinning, “Bond. He’s coming this way. Here goes you chance, darling.”

Q snorted and sipped at his Cosmopolitan. “Shut it, Eve. He’s just going to have another drink, show-off.”

“If you think so…” sarcasm was downright trickling from her mouth like a witch’s spell. 

“No, I know so,” he retorted. He pointed at the man in question pouring himself two fingers of gin. “See?”

“No, no. He’s definitely planning something. I’m certain of that,” R noted. And damn, she was most probably right. 007 wasn’t one to give up, it would be rather odd if he didn’t try anything else on him.

_Well, if he promises he’ll return all equipment in one piece the next time and fill he paperwork he’s been promising Eve and M till the end of the week, then I perhaps might give him a chance to get me another drink and a go at the danc—_

_I am fucked._

Eve’s voice resounded through his head again. He loves you too. Did he, though? Did he? That was what Q feared most. 

The minions observed Bond carefully. When they saw him take two glasses instead of one and walk in their direction, they all squeaked silently, men and women all the same. 

“Oh my God, he’s really coming here,” Rachel, the minion standing on Q’s right, chirped and patted his arm in excitement. Then she realised it was inappropriate behaviour towards her superior and apologised before he’d say something. “Sorry, boss.” 

“You know what to do, Q,” Eve encouraged him and gave him a wide smirk that revealed her pointy, carious teeth. She really did her best with the mask. “Or rather what _not_ to do.”

Q casted a very exasperated glance at her. He would tell her where she should go, but he saw the pointlessness of it, so he resigned on any attempts to contradict her any further and remained silent. He was actually rather curious what was 007 going to perform. Something pretentious ad worthy of his style, no doubt. 

The agent approached the group slowly, two glasses of the colourless liquid in his hands. He was chuckling complacently the while time, as if knowing whatever he had in mind was going to work out. All the alcohol in his system had added to the boldness of his significantly. 

No one uttered a word; everyone has been eyeing 007, captivated, and waited for him to come over. They desired to know what his moves were going to be. 

He just stopped when he reached his destination, placed the glasses on the round table they were standing at, and broadened the smile on his face while cocking an eyebrow seductively. 

“Care to join me for a dance, or are you still so adamant on lying to yourself that you want to have nothing to do with me?” Bond asked, rather confident.

“You know what, Bond, fuck it all, yes, I will join you for a dance, but only to shut these two up, do you understand?” Q surprisingly accepted the agent’s offer, knocked back the tot, and led 007 take him by the hands and lead him to the middle of the improvised dance floor, away from the group of gossipers whom he undoubtedly gave a topic to chat about for the rest of the night. 

As Bond walked backwards, he almost bumped into 0013 in a Cinderella dress. He was dancing already, swaying his shoulders in a rhythm much more pleasant to Q’s ears, making Q involuntarily move as well, since their hands were linked. 

“Admit it, Q, you like this,” he teased. “You like it, just as you like all that attention I have always paid you, doing favours for me, covering for me at M’s, kissing me and having ne pinned to a wall, hard, like last Christmas…” 

He stopped and let go of Q’s hands. He took his chin in between two of his fingers and lifted his head so he could get a better view of the Quartermaster’s eyes. Q swallowed hard. 

“What you’re waiting for, Q? Don’t stand by and deny it,” purred Bond as he leant in, and Q could swear that was a song lyric he has heard somewhere before. At least he refrained from using one of those lame pick-up lines.

He was so close – their faces nearly touching. And Q could tell he would finally stop so – if it weren’t for the bloody mask on Bond’s face that made the next step somewhat impossible. 

“That mask, Bond.” He felt awkward, needing to remind him and disturbing the moment doing so. 

“But putting it off will destroy the costume,” he noted jokingly. However, he was already pulling the blasted thing off. “And please, it’s James.”

“If you insist.”

“Yes, I very much do, Quartermaster.”

Neither of them paid any attention to the rest of MI6 round them, all they could see was each other. 

Kissing was inevitable at this point. And that was one of the reasons why Q didn’t want to attend the party in the first place. He knew it would come to it, just as it did at the Christmas one ten months ago. 

It was actually a wonder they managed to avoid each other except necessary mission preps during that time.

_But why do I want to avoid it, actually?_

Having drunk enough, Q thought _screw the consequences_ and let go of all scruples. It would be pointless anyway. He was well aware that he’d be incapable of saying no now. He gave in to the inner desire at last, for the second time in his life, and actually met James halfway.

Their mouths crashed together in an instant. It felt just as he remembered – absolutely fantastic. Only now James was gentler, more caring. As if the promises were true. As if he could mean what he had said. Oh, Q wished he did so much. 

Bond dropped the mask on the floor and raised his hand to cup Q’s cheek. He stroked it gently with his thumb. He wanted to show him his affection was genuine and that he could be tender with those he cared about. 

Their lips brushed against each other, touching and nothing more than that. It was sweet, almost. Loving. Chaste. And they could both say they wanted more than that, but they weren’t inebriated enough to let it go further. If Bond didn’t, Q definitely had enough dignity to pull away just the right time.

And although it was not a deep kiss, it was breathtaking. Quite literally. 

Bond’s hand lingered on Q’s cheek for a little longer. He smiled. “I hope this makes my intentions towards you clear, Q. You do mean more than a one-night fuck to me.”

“I think I might want you to prove that right,” Q responded with equal smile.

“Happy Halloween, Doctor.”

“Likewise, doctor.”

„So I see it is a Will Graham then.”

“You still think that was a good pun, don’t you?” Q laughed, and it was a sound that made Bond’s heart skip a beat. So melodic. So heart-warming. “And so you’d known, this was all I’ve ever wanted for the both of us.”

Q really, really didn’t want to complete the quote and display his geek heart even more, but he couldn’t help it. “It’s beautiful.”

There was no other fall than a fall in each other’s arms, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> It meant to be shorter and more MI6 squad-centric, but it got out of my hands a bit.  
> If you'd ask me what they were dancing to, I have no idea, cos as far as I'm concerned, dance music means the softer Hollywood Undead songs. I dressed Bond as I did only so I could use the bad bisexuality pun. Because I'm a queen of bad puns. I'm worse than Doctor Punkenstein. My Tumblr URL is a bad pun. (quartermasterswill. I'm sure you'll figure it out. in few minutes.)


End file.
